What Price Glory?
by calledbyname
Summary: After Kel returns from a disastrous mission in the Drell valley, she and Dom compare battle scars. KelDom, oneshot.


**A/N:** This is set when Kel's in her mid-thirties. As you'll probably be able to tell, no few people are dead now. Well, that's the Tortallan life-expectancy for you.

I've been getting questions about why Lianokami and Thayet greet the Own, and not Roald and Shinko. The truth is, this isn't _exactly_ a one-shot; I'm constitutionally incapable of writing anything that doesn't have extensive backstory. In this world, Lian is an exceptionally shy child, and has had some pretty bad experiences with crowds, so her parents want her out in public as much as they can, and greeting the Own was the perfect way to start, since if they're not super-nice to her, they're all fired. Honestly, after two generations straight of fantastic women, the Conte line has to throw a runt somewhere.

Thanks to Lan for the beta.

**Disclaimer:** This is entirely based off of Tamora Pierce's work. She owns it, not me.

* * *

Autumn rains had begun in earnest when the First Company limped into Corus. They were greeted with all the triumphant celebration due the great defenders from the Tusinian threat. Crowds cheered as they passed; children threw posies and bundles of herbs onto the muddy procession route, while their older sisters offered garlands and blew kisses to passing soldiers. The Knight-Commander tucked her reins into her sling and waved at passing crowds with her good hand. At the Palace gate, Crown Princess Lianokami waited with all the solemnity a nervous fourteen-year-old could muster, and even if the Dowager Queen had to prompt her in her rehearsed speech, all admitted it was a pretty sight to see the entire company dismount, as one body, and kneel to her.

That evening Their Royal Majesties presided over a jubilant banquet. They, along with the rest of Court, heard about of the gallantry of the three men, one of them a newly-made Sergeant of the King's Own. On discovering their commander's kidnapping, they mistrusted Roban D'Alusanne's honour and had penetrated the enemy keep to perform a rescue from the very chamber of torture. Afterwards, none of the three lacked partners in dancing, invitation to trysts, or private parties. If the Knight-Commander seemed a bit distracted, or left after making her obligatory toast to her company, no one much noticed. There was newer gossip and livelier company to pursue than Sir Keladry of Mindelan.

* * *

"You didn't come."

"We knew you'd leave early," Duke Nealan of Queenscove replied, not taking his eyes off the chessboard, "and we guessed there would be dancing. Was there?"

Kel shared an uncomfortable glance with his cousin. "There was," she admitted.

"Well, then," Neal said briskly. "Checkmate, Dom." He rose from the table and advanced on Kel. "Let's see that hand. Your Caron is a good lad in a pinch, but I don't trust him with anything so delicate." As he spoke, he manoeuvred Kel into his recently vacated seat, undid her sling, and gently took hold of her hand.

"D'Alusanne's healer fixed it when he was finished," Kel protested. "It's fine."

Neal made a skeptical noise, gently probing the splints. "Well, I suppose it's half-healed anyway. See me in the morning and I'll take another look. Domitan," he announced, "you can stop glaring at me now. I'm leaving."

And he did.

"Well," Dom said after an awkward pause, "he _is_ the ill-mannered one."

Kel laughed half-heartedly and paused again. Experimentally, she rotated her arm before the pain made her stop, and caught Dom's unspoken question.

"He broke my hand."

"I know," Dom replied quietly. "Roald threatened war over it. Violation of a noble hostage."

"It hurts." Which was too close to a whine, but it was also the truth.

"I'm sorry."

She reached her good hand across the table, lying it in a clear place amid the clutter of dinner dishes and a half-finished chess game. Dom took it, squeezing her fingertips, and she was forced to smile at him. Then he took a breath and said it.

"Kel, I lost my leg."

Her grip tightened. "I read."

A nod; a quick, nervous breath; too much fear. "Keladry, I'd understand if you wanted-"

"No," Kel said, trapping his hand in that famous iron grip before he could let go. "I wouldn't."

After a moment, they could both smile pale, shaky smiles of relief. Kel relaxed her grip and Dom let go. "Come on," he said, and gestured over his shoulder. "Sitting is for stumps." Kel got to her feet, cradling her injured hand to her chest. Dom reached under his chair for a crutch.

For all the death and destruction in her life, Kel had to admit that nothing she had ever seen could hurt as much as watching Domitan of Masbolle struggle the fourteen steps to his own bed. She stood rooted to the spot. Dom turned, leaning against the bedpost, and tried to make a joke out of it. "You should have seen me the first day." He could not conceal how much the effort had cost him, but he could try to ignore it. "Come on."

She did, shutting the door to his sitting room. His bed, she noticed, had been sawed down; previously, it had required a small stepstool to climb into, and now he could easily sit on it. He propelled himself back to lean against the headboard, and after divesting herself of an uncomfortable tunic and shoes, she joined him. Once they were comfortably settled, he stroked her hair and leaned his head against her shoulder with a sigh. "That's better," he said. "For a while, I was afraid that you'd stay on the border over the winter."

"It was in the truce agreement that the Own left. There's still half an army regiment in the Drell valley."

"I missed you."

"Me too." After a moment, her fingertips hesitantly brushed the stump of his leg. "Dom-"

He trapped her hand with his own. "Don't ask what happened. Please? It's not- I don't like to think about it. Not tonight."

Remembering Neal's harried note- _His leg was crushed under the spidren, and the fools didn't find him until morning_- Kel could only agree to that. The thought made her move a little closer to him, made her want to take the pain away. From the way he took her injured hand and held it gently, so carefully, the feeling was mutual.

"It's somehow supposed to hurt less," he said, "because it was for a good cause. I've been reading Neal's books. A soldier to the King is supposed to bear his hurts nobly, and with pride, like a badge of honour. And I have to be an example to everyone else. Pretend that it doesn't hurt. That I don't mind, because I did it for Tortall."

"Someone said that to me, once," Kel said. "I laughed, and laughed, and he backed out of the room very slowly, and then ran to the Healer to get me a soothing drink."

Dom smiled. "Did you take it?"

"Of course I did. My mama always taught me, never argue with a healer."

"How obedient you are." He stroked her hair for a moment in silence. "I've been thinking of heading home. Masbolle's men-at-arms are in a sorry state, especially if peace with Tusaine won't hold. They need looking after."

With a pang, Kel pushed herself upright. "But, Dom!" she began, and faltered. "I mean, I thought you'd at least stay for winter at Court, wouldn't you? To get better?"

"Maybe," he said firmly. When she remained incredulous, he added, "I have to find someone experienced and able-bodied to lead them. _And_-" he managed the ghost of a grin, "-said fearless leader might want time to get patched up, look after her current post, and ponder attaching herself to Masbolle in a more permanent fashion. Even if it _is_ in such a sorry state." His smile this time was ironic.

"You're not in a sorry state," Kel protested automatically.

He merely grinned. She looked at him sharply. "Was that an offer?"

"Offer?" Dom asked. "Come, you jest. I haven't even said what's in it for you. Besides which, you might decide you like your present job so much more, and I will have to limp home without you."

Kel settled back, trying to keep the hard-won tone of flippancy. "I have great faith in your negotiating skills." Pause. "I'll think about it."

He got up long enough to change the candle beside the bed. Kel, still horribly unused to his new awkwardness, had to look away.

"I've decided," he said on returning. "I never much liked that leg anyway." He was lying, and they both knew it.

"Good," Kel said. "Neither did I."

* * *

Rain pattered against the high windows of the Queen's ballroom as three of Kel's men knelt before their King to receive a hero's accolade. She was proud of them, and rightly so; her applause joined that of every other person in the room. How happy all three of them were, full of life as only men just into manhood and covered with glory could be.

She had a sudden vision of herself standing on that dais, this King's father on the throne. Only eighteen, she lifted her new shield to the crowds, deafened by cheers and drunk on glory. Behind the throne and around the dais stood knights of the realm: battle-seasoned men who had outgrown that wild happiness.

"Give them ten years," Neal growled on her right. "They won't be so ready for a fight. Someone should have taken us by the ear as pages and shaken some sense into us." He'd spent the morning directing his personal Healer, checking over their wounds, so Kel could understand his attitude. Dom, however, shook his head.

"We're all still ready for a fight, Meathead. Despite knowing what it costs."

Kel flexed her good hand nervously as her soldiers retreated from the Royal presence. "We know it's worth it," she said softly.

Dom looked over, and nodded.


End file.
